


heist traditions (exist to make you scream)

by cactusparade



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gay John Martson, M/M, PWP, Power Bottom John, Trans Character, Trans John Martson, Vaginal Sex, and subsequent creampie eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusparade/pseuds/cactusparade
Summary: "His hand shoots out and gives Arthur’s left cheek a mild backhanded slap. A warning. Eyes narrowing, he says, “A warm hole is all it takes for you to forget the rules?” The hands leave John’s legs hastily and twist into blond hair. “S'what I thought. You get to touch when I say so. Understand?”"Arthur and John burn off some adrenaline after a successful job.





	heist traditions (exist to make you scream)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sad Cowboy Malone (NobleMalone)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleMalone/gifts).



> blame it on the discord
> 
> disclaimer: john is a trans guy in this story who has PIV sex. as a trans guy myself, i used words and descriptions comfortable to me. i avoided using anatomical words as best i could, but if you experience dysphoria proceed with caution and keep yourselves safe, y'all.
> 
> unbeta'd and looked over once by me, so lemme know if there's any glaring errors

No matter how many times they do this, it still leaves John breathless every time he gets to put his hands on Arthur. From his place in Arthur’s lap, he has free reign to run his hands all over Arthur’s body, particularly his impressive chest and shoulders, hard and well-defined from doing so many camp chores.

They’re a day’s ride from camp, running on the thrill of a robbery well done and the high of money and jewelry in their pockets. Even after they give their camp contributions, they’ll both have a decent chunk for personal use. Which is why they’re celebrating in the only way they know how: alcohol, cigarettes, and sex. The makeshift camp tent isn’t much wider than the side-by-side bedrolls that make up the floor of it, but it’ll suffice for its intended purposes. John had pushed Arthur to the floor the second he finished putting it up, climbing into his lap immediately after and trying to kiss him within an inch of his life.

Arthur’s lips are puffy and red, downright _illegal_ when paired with the flush on his cheeks and how wild John’s made his hair from teasing tugs and pulls. They never have the time to draw out their encounters at camp, so John relishes any and all opportunities to turn Arthur into a whiny, needy mess, to know he’s the only one who can give Arthur what he _needs_.

And what Arthur needs is for someone else to take control. It had stunned John the time they had had sex, watching such an imposing man hunch in on himself to become shy and timid, waiting for direction before he did anything. John’s lost count of how many times he’s had Arthur’s cock in him, but the submissive side of him still delights John more than he can articulate.

Ready to get things started, John puts a hand on the center of Arthur’s chest to push him flat. John begins to strip unselfconsciously, shirt first, followed by boots, pants, and undergarments, all tossed into the corner with their gun belts. He spots Arthur tracking his every motion, hands curled tightly into the bedroll to fight the temptation to touch. John knows how bad he must want to, but Arthur knows the rules: he doesn’t get to touch himself or John unless John says so. 

“Good,” John praises, watches Arthur’s cheeks darken beautifully as he gathers his own slick on two fingers and slips them inside himself. Arthur groans like he’s the one being touched, eyes laser focused on how John manipulates his own body.

“Look at you, so needy and I ain’t even touched you yet.” John laughs meanly, adds a third finger. “Ready for me like a cheap whore.”

Arthur’s cock jumps, already leaking from nothing but John’s words and his kisses. John feels like he’s on top of the world, feels powerful in a way he rarely does in his everyday life. He’s in complete control and he loves Arthur for giving it to him. For trusting him with it.

He withdraws his fingers, wipes the excess fluid across Arthur’s stubbled cheek because he knows that no matter how filthy it makes Arthur feel, it also makes him run that much hotter. A cheap whore indeed.

Sitting on Arthur’s dick is always an overwhelming experience, a moment in time where all is right in the world. Nothing matters but the indescribable fullness John feels, the slight burn no amount of prep will take away that’ll turn into pleasure in a few short moments. John’s so caught up in that moment that he almost misses Arthur settling hands on his thighs.

His hand shoots out and gives Arthur’s left cheek a mild backhanded slap. A warning. Eyes narrowing, he says, “A warm hole is all it takes for you to forget the rules?” The hands leave John’s legs hastily and twist into blond hair. “S'what I thought. You get to touch when I say so. Understand?”

Arthur nods, and oh, that just won’t do. John backhands him again, harder this time. It leaves a red mark barely distinguishable from his blush. “Yes, I understand.”

“ _Good boy_.” And if John thought Arthur was a whining mess before, it’s nothing compared to when John starts to rock his hips and fuck himself in earnest.

Arthur lets out these delicious little whimpers that drive John to move faster. He lives for these times when Arthur’s walls come down and he lets himself just exist, no room to put up a stoic front when pleasure is at the forefront of his mind.

John reaches a hand down to rub at himself while the other hand reaches out to rest on Arthur’s throat. He knows choking isn’t what Arthur needs tonight, but he still flexes his fingers slightly. The threat of it, the possibility that the air in his lungs is all he’ll have, has Arthur whining so loud he almost does sound like a whore, fucking up into John so abruptly that he’s almost unseated. He allows it to pass without comment, only due to the way Arthur’s eyes go wide as he gasps out a stuttered apology. 

“It’s all right,” John says, hand on Arthur’s throat moving to tweak a pebbled nipple and then knead at the flesh of the pectoral underneath it. “You’re bein’ so good, lettin’ me use your cock like it’s nothin’ but a toy for me to get off with. ‘Cause that’s all it is, ain’t it, Arthur?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur whines, “it’s yours.”

“You’re goddamn right it’s mine,” John growls out. “Mine to use, mine to fuck, _mine_. There ain’t nobody else who could give you what you need like I do.”

Arthur’s knuckles turn white, still wrapped in the bedroll. “Can I touch you? Please lemme touch you, Johnny, _please_.”

“Go ‘head.” John’s need to come is fast becoming unbearable; he can’t imagine how strong Arthur’s need is, worked up as he was before they even started fucking.

Arthur’s large hands span the entirety of the tops of John’s thighs, tan flesh against pale flesh. John would be willing to bet he’ll have ten small bruises tomorrow to match where he can feel fingertips clenching desperately. “ _Thank you_.”

“For what?”

“For usin’ me like I deserve to be used. For givin’ me what nobody else can. For treatin’ me like the whore I am.” His cheeks almost look sunburned from how red they are, but Arthur’s voice is as steady as he can make it and he doesn’t break eye contact, blue eyes fever bright.

“ _Arthur_ ,” John rasps out, orgasm peaking, legs clamping around Arthur’s thick hips. His body seizes up, upper half racked with shivers. The tight feeling in his groin spreads until it deadens his other senses.

Arthur is looking up at him pleadingly when his vision clears, stomach muscles clenched tightly like the only thing holding back his own orgasm is shear force of will because John hasn’t given him permission yet. John leans down to kiss him gently, noticing how much smoother the glide of Arthur’s cock is now that John has come. “You’ve been so good, Arthur. My beautiful, perfect slut. Take what you need, darlin’.”

That’s all Arthur needs before his feet plant firmly on the ground and his hips snap up. There’s no finesse, no rhythm John can discern but it only lasts for another minute before Arthur stills and exhales in the way he always does when he hits his peak.

They spend some time catching their breaths, John flexing his legs and grimacing at how it makes some of Arthur’s cum leak out. Arthur runs his hands up and down John’s ribs, taking special care to never get too close to his chest. Seeing Arthur fucked out and sated but still so considerate of John’s boundaries makes his heart feel fit to burst.

He carefully untangles himself from Arthur and lays next to him, shoulders rubbing together comfortably. John turns his head and raises an eyebrow at Arthur’s confused look. “What’s with the face, cowboy? We ain’t done here. You made a mess; it’s only fair you clean it up.”

The flush that was just beginning to fade comes back with a vengeance. Arthur hides his face in John’s shoulder. John lets him for a few seconds before he makes an impatient noise and jostles his shoulder. John opens his legs to accommodate Arthur’s wide shoulders and it spurs him into motion.

“No hands,” John reminds him before the first wide swipe of Arthur’s tongue has him groaning loudly and gripping tightly at Arthur’s hair.

As much as John loves his cock, John has spent months perfecting Arthur’s craft with his mouth. Getting eaten out by him, his tongue warm and wet and completely dedicated to his task, is the closest John’s ever come to believing in God. Arthur works diligently, making these hungry little sounds that, when combined with the depraved noises of him cleaning up their mixed fluids, feel like a punch to the gut. Warmth spreads up his spine and his legs close around Arthur’s head when he comes again. He lets go of Arthur’s hair to let the man kiss his way up John’s naval, once again bypassing his chest to bring them face to face.

His chin is slick and shiny, hair a complete mess from how it was meticulously styled at the start of the day. He looks utterly debauched. John’s love for him is going to kill him one day, he just knows it.

John reaches a hand out and shifts it around blindly until he finds a handkerchief, unwilling to look away from Arthur’s face. Not for the first time, he wishes he had even a fraction of Arthur’s artistic talent so he could commit this moment to paper. He has to settle for burning it into his memory as he uses the fabric in his hand to clean Arthur’s face tenderly. Arthur takes it from John when he’s done to clean their genitals the best he can without a proper bath. He then flops down and pulls John close to him so they’re face to face.

“Thank you,” Arthur says quietly, interrupting himself to give John soft kisses, “for always knowin’ what I need.”

“‘Course. I love you, Arthur. I love you so damn much.”

It’s not the first time John has said it, but it still makes Arthur smile, bashful as a man like him can get. “Love you, too. I’d do anythin’ for you, John.”

Most nights, John can’t believe his luck. Can’t believe he gets to exist at the same time as Arthur Morgan, gets to love and be loved by him. Looking at Arthur now, John wishes he could take all the misguided love he felt in his youth for other people and give it to him, make this broken man understand his worth as John does. But John isn’t in the business of having regrets about lost time if he can help it, so instead he thinks about his time with Arthur now as he falls asleep with Arthur’s head tucked under his chin.

**Author's Note:**

> reading my own writing like wow, you sure do love those commas and adverbs, don't ya, buddy?
> 
> also, based on the tiny amount of research i did, i don't think slut had the connotations then that it does today, but i liked the way it fit so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> check out my [tumblr](https://cactusparade.tumblr.com/)


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